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Verses 



BY iX 

ISABELLA HOWE FISKE, '96 



PRINTED FOR THE BENEFIT OF 

tTbe MeUesles College JEn^owment fxxrib 

JUNE , 1900 



^685 

Library ot Congress 

Two Copies Received 
JUN 22 1900 

Copyright witry 






SECOND COPY. 

Deliv«r»4 t» 

ORDER DIVISION, 

Jim 23 1900 



M- 



qoo 



64i)51 



COPYRIGHT, 1900, 

BY 

ISABELLA kOWE FISKE 



PRINTED BY FRANK WOOD 
BOSTON 



2)e&icatfon* 

TO KATHARINE LEE BATES. 

To you the flowers whisper as you pass ; 

You comrade Nature, How, then, shall I dare 
To offer one who gathers blossoms rare, 

My little handful of the ^'smale gras ? '^ 



Contents* 

PART I. 

PAGE 

Recess 9 

The Nursery ....... 10 

Fairies and Brownies . . . . . . 11 

' — ^House-Cleaning 12 

My Neighbor . 13 

Clouds . . , 14 

Starlight ...... . - 16 

Dream-Time . . . . . . . 17 

The China Plate . . . . . . . 18 

Memory . . . . . . . . 19 

Neighbors . . 20 

Change 21 

"The Kingdom of Heaven" .... 22 



PART n. 

Falling Leaves 25 

Speech 26 

Company 27 

My Room .28 

My Corridor 29 

Riches . 30 

Song . . 31 

What Did You Say? 32 

Seclusion 33 

Pollen 34 

The Saxifrage 35 

The Poplars ....... 36 

Rest • • 37 

The Last Leaf, I. and II 38 



Slumber Song . . . , . . . 39 

Nirvana ........ 40 

A Little Cloud of Night 41 

^Meridian ........ 42 

Restraint .43 

Evolution ........ 44 

Ownership ......... 45 

Requiem ........ 46 

Requiem ........ 47 

Nature Repeats Herself 48 

Resurrection ....... 49 

Refrains after the Roumanian .... 50 

Heaven is so Far Away . . . . . 51 

Day Dreams . . . . . . . 52 

Spring 5^ 

Metamorphosis 54 

The Highwayman 5'; 

The Gardener 56 



PART in. 



Sunset on the Upper Thames ; Point Meadow 

A Burne-Jones Woman 

From the Train . 

On the Rigi — Question 

On the Rigi — Answer 

A Street of Sorrento . 

On the Amalfi Road . 

The Landslide at Amalfi 

In Florence .... 

St. John the Baptist . 

Fra Angelico 

Old and New 

The Arno .... 

An Andrea Del Sarto Madonna 

Dante ..... 

Two Painters 

The Artist in Italy 



61 
62 

^3 
64 

65 
66 

67 
68 
69 

70 

71 
72 
73 

74 
75 
76 
78 



PART I. 

Child Verses. 



Alma Mater ^ just to-day, 

May my children with yours play ? 



w 



TRCCCSB. 

HEN the winds are out a-romping, 
And the leaves play butterfly, 

When 'tis after-school in Nature, 
Let us wander, you and I, 

Hand in hand, as children love to, 
To the land men name the sky. 

With the cloud-folk we can visit, 
Of their chariot make our car, 

Dressed in colors like the sunset ; 
And if we should stray so far 

That the lights come out to call us, 
Drop down on some shooting star. 



Zbc IRutsetg* 

T TPSTAIRS in the pine-boughs, 
^ Where the cradles sway, 
Little birds are sleeping, — 

Mother bird's away ; 
Careful breezes rock them 

Busily, all day. 



ID 



faiviCB an& Brownies- 

ONE fairy came to town 
On a thistle-down ; 
Another on a sky-lark's song 

Came dropping down ; 
And one a sunbeam slid along,- 
That's how he got so brown ! 



II 



T 



l&ouse^Cleaning* 

HE rain's a tidy parlor-maid ; 
She dusts with care each separate blade 
And the high walls of the skies. 
And Mother Nature, too, is wise 
And often has a cleaning day 
To wash the dust and dirt away. 
On the carpets of the fields 
Well her broom of storms she wields ; 
On her furniture of trees 
The feather-duster of the breeze. 
Then she's ready, when that's done, 
For her company, the sun. 



12 



/iD^ 1Reigbboi\ 

IV A Y dear friend, Nature's lady, 
^^ *^ Peeps through my window-pane, 
And glancing in, she finds me there 
Sending back her smiles again. 

The world says she's a mountain ; 

It cannot understand. 
I know, for I have talked with her, 

That she's a lady grand. 

She dresses with the climate. 
And when the skies are blue, 

Appears, in graceful partnership, 
In the same celestial hue. 

On smiling days she's with me ; 

But when the weather's gray, 
She dons her mackintosh of mist 

And vanishes away ! 



13 



/ 



(I10U&S* 



THERE'S a little man in the clouds to-night, 
And he looks down at me. 

little man in the sky so bright, 

With you I long to be ! 

1 hear him cry as he sails by 

In the moonlight overhead, 
Don't you wish that you were a cloud-man, too, 
And needn't go to bed? 



II. 

In all the clouds the livelong day, 
A hundred Httle goblins play. 
And scamper straight across the sky ; 
I like to watch them scurry by. 

They take all shapes the heart could wish. 
Every kind of beast and fish. 
With some of them I'd like to play. 
But from the rest I'd run away ! 



H 



III. 

All the fleecy clouds one sees, 
Mother says she does not know 
Where they come from, where they go, 

Moving in the sun and breeze. 
In those blue fields far away ; 
But a fairy told me they 

Are the souls of apple-trees 

Just in blossom, white as snow ; 
And a fairy ought to know ! 



IV. 

A great show-window is the sky, 

Where the angels go to buy 

All their plumed hats, white and gray, 

And their robes that trail and sway 

When they float amid the blue. 

As the angels love to do ! 



15 



Statltgbt. 

I 

\ 1 7HEN Dusk presumes to follow 
' ^ The footsteps of the Day, 
He sets the blades a-shiver 
Where late her warm tread lay. 

The flowers forget to blossom, 
The breezes hush their play, 

A star peeps round the corner 
And wishes him away. 



All the little children dear 

In this planet, far and near. 

Must put their playthings out of sight, 

And go to bed, when it is night. 

But little children in the sky 
Like to have the night come by, 
For they can then go out and play. 
Just as we children do by day. 

You don't believe that it is true? 
Then you must watch them as I do. 
Every night I see them play 
All along the Milky Way. 

16 



2)ream=:=irime* 

VERY night-time, just at ten, 
When the lamp is burning low, 
My mamma comes up to bed. 
I like to He and watch her then. 
For 'tis such fun to wake again, — 
Although my prayers have long been said, — 
Just for company, you know. 

Her arms look very white and fair 

By the lamp before the glass, / 

And she moves them to and fro 

As she stands and braids her hair. 

All the shadows gather there 

On the wall, and come and go. 

And the sleepy minutes pass. 

I wonder why, when she's so small, 
Her shadow is so big and gray ; 
I see it when I shut my eyes ; 
It blunders over all the wall, 
And does not look Hke her at all. 
I wonder why she sometimes cries 
Until I kiss the tears away. 



17 



Zbc China iplate* 

COULD I unlock the garden gate 
Upon the old blue china plate 
That is the best of all my toys, 
I'd be the happiest of boys ! 

In all things there my eyes delight, — 
The curly clouds are blue and white. 
And on the grass the waving trees 
Invite my footsteps where I please. 

And up the path a lady goes — 
Stopping meanwhile to pick a rose — 
To the old mansion on the hill, 
That shows within the water still. 

Two boys sit on the bank. I wish 
That I could show them how to fish. 
They do not seem to know the way, 
And IVe no one with whom to play. 



i8 



T 



:flDemorp. 

HE pillared house stands tall and straight^ 
And narrow paths within the gate 
Lead where the noisy knocker calls 
Its echoing summons through the halls. 

About the flower-plots trim and square 
I see a child run here and there, 
Just peeping o'er the hedge of box, 
And quite too short for hollyhocks. 

Then to the brook and poplars tall. 
The other side the garden-wall. 
And all the wealth that pastures hold. 
For such as delve in Nature's gold. 

Till, wearied of the farmyard store, 
Laughing he seeks the open door. 
Where kindly faces watch and smile, 
And many indoor hours beguile. 

And as I look, I can but know 
I am the child of long ago. 
Whose memory still its way unlocks 
Into the garden sweet with box. 



19 



CHILDREN at play from houses near at hand ; 
The hours sped, laughter-winged, our child- 
hood through; 
Among the oft-trod haunts of wonderland 

We watched the magic scenes that fancy drew, 
Till future years were ours but to command. 
And I was glad, for, though a child, I knew 
It was a happy thing to neighbor you 
The while our play a golden future planned. 

I heard you sing to-day, and saw once more 
Two girls at play, in old-time careless ways, — 

Two children, pledging faith forever more. 

And though your lot has brought you fame and 
praise. 

And things yet brighter than our dreams of yore. 
To dim the memory of those other days, 
I know, though years and cities part our ways. 

Our hearts are neighbors yet, as heretofore. 



20 



THE shadows of the past are there 
In Mary's eyes, — 
Blue, paHng shadows on a slope of snow 

Where sunshine lies 
And takes soft sky-hues unaware. 
The shadows of the future years 
Shake into light through unsought tears. 
Can youth and sweetness loveless go ? 
So love-Hght flashes 
Through darkling lashes, 
And the girFs are woman's eyes. 

The years have wrought a deeper shade 

In Mary's eyes ; 
The tread of time has left its trace 

In sorrow's wise ; 
Yet is their watching unafraid, 
For love and life together stray. 
And strength takes still the laughter-way, 
Pausing before a woman's face 

Where faith still flashes 

Through steadfast lashes, 
Afid the girl's are the woman's eyes. 



21 



ii 



Zbc TRingDom of Deapen/' 



(A Painting by Charles Sims Royal Academy, 

1899.) 

A FLOOD of opal sunlight over flower and field 
^^ and tree, 

And the river flowing softly, as if to him were sweet 
To hear the quick, soft footfall of unsteady little 
feet, 
And the sound of children's voices, as they call 
aloud in glee. 

Here colors glow that elsewhere can only fancy see, 
And here the dreams of children they may as 

playmates greet. 
Here are no joys forbidden, while hours move 
still and fleet, 
And tears are all forgotten, as children's tears should 
be. 

There shall be many mansions, yet one shall be 
most fair, 
The play-ground of our children. Mayhap, if we 
be wise. 
We shall leave the greater places to breathe its 
purer air. 
For a golden afternooning of each daytime in the 
skies. 
And become as little children, since only such are 
there, 
Where laughter wields the sceptre, and childhood 
death defies. 

22 



PART II. 

Nature- Verses and Songs. 



Mother Nature^ be it late 
When fro77i you I gi-aduate ! 



jfallinQ %cavcs* 

ly /I AN that joys and man that grieves 
^ ' * Searches 'midst the faUing leaves 
Of the tree of thought. 
And amongst such, drifting down, 
For the bright and for the brown, 
Have I sometimes sought. 



25 



o 



Speecb. 

FT on the darkened highway 

No face of them all do I see 
That, out of the tumult and traffic, 

Sendeth a message to me ; 
Yet far in the silent country, 

Mayhap no leaf on the tree 
But filleth the morning with voices, 

And calleth aloud to me. 

There are sounds that the ear is deaf to, 

Smiles that no eye can see ; 
Of these hath the heart its language, 

Whatever man's speech may be. 
Where thou canst catch its accent 

Scarce can thy wish foresee, 
For than all of a city's clamor 

Louder may silence be. 



26 



Company* 

UNDER his feet, the new cool of the grass ; 
And overhead, the skies ; 
While from his heart the long years haste to pass.- 

Who could be old or wise 
Whom the stream's chatter calleth to so much, 

Who sees, with careful eyes, 
The oak's pink clusters curl within his touch, 
Softly, in baby-wise? 



27 



/!Dp 1Room* 

/^ REEN and silver of glimmering birch 
^^ Its wind-stirred portiere ; 

Sun and shadow weave into lace, 
As I watch from my moss-upholstered chair 
Where hills draw into the open space, 
And boughs, ajar to the transient perch 
Of gossip sparrows, bar human search. 

Stolen haunt of the inner me ; 

Freedom-walled from the hours of care, 
Built with a better workman's stroke 
Into my dreams than can waking dare : 
Beam of cedar and floor of oak 
Weaker seem than the light birch- tree 
That has my sou-1 under lock and key. 



28 



A 



/ll>^ Corri&ot* 

CORRIDOR my footsteps know 
In a palace set where rivers flow, 

And my lord the afternoon 

Holds his jubilee of June. 

Its frescoes are of poplars gray ; 

Its soft larch-draperies cling and sway ; 

Sounds of laughter and of song 

Drift its sunlit length along 

From the banquet-halls that look to the west, 

It leads the weary unto rest, 

And the sober unto mirth, 

And all who follow, can it lead from earth. 



29 



IRicbes. 

WOUR palace neighbors me, and day by day 
^ I lean and watch you as you come and go ; 
Your menials line the steps, a hireling row 

That scorn me on my unattended way. 
Yet have I servants, more than I can tell, 
Who ask no silver, and ivho love me well. 

I scarce can dream what wealth your coffers hold, 
So low my thatch, so high your palace walls ; 
But know such silver lines your banquet halls 

You reck not of my hoard of autumn's gold. 
Methinks of worser metal your estate, 
My fellow-farer toward the outer gate. 



30 



Song. 

SING to me of gold and red. 
(Swallow^ list, a- flying.^ 
Who has taught you, maple leaf, 
Thus to deck and gild a grief, 
Thus to sing that summer's dead 
And that woods are dying? 

Slowly sing the dirge of green. 

( Winds, come hither sighing.^ 
Showers of gold the waters know, 
Softly falling as the snow ; 
Crimson paths, tall trunks between, 
Autumn's feet are trying. 



31 



w 



Mbat 2)f& 330U Sap? 

HAT did you say to me ? 
I did not understand 
If the questioning word 
Were the hum of a social bee 
Near at hand, 

Or a voice at a distance heard ; 
For man and beast are kin to-day 
In the one speech of May. 



32 



w 



\^ 



Seclusion- 

HITE Alpine heights cloud-veil their eyes 

From the folk- world below ; 
Heeding naught less than day's sunrise 

That floods with rosy glow 
Their uneventful paradise 

Where only violets grow. 
Would I, too, might shun life's surprise, 

And haste, as valleys low ; 
Would that my soul might, Alpine-wise, 

Win lethargies of snow I 



33 



pollen* 

D RIGHT in your uniform set with gold, 
^ Your wings unfold, 

Messenger bee, 

And carry my sweetheart a message from me ; 

Fly far and low 

Till her face you know, 

Fairer than other flowers to see. 



She will take with her fingers fair 

The words of love that I dare. 

And hide them in her breast of white, 

Yes, she will read aright 

All my desire. 

Brighter and faster than fire 

Carry my love to my love to-night. 



34 



p\ BAREST, thou art to me, the first to dare 
*-^ The winds and rocks of April hillsides, where 
Thou to the sunshine gainest brave access. 
A young voice crying in the wilderness. 
Thou to prepare the way of spring art sent. 
The first lone star in all the firmament 
Of earth, that soon shall show its Milky Way 
Of thick-set blossoms, wondrous fair in May. 



35 



Ube poplars* 

O WINDS, my winds in the poplars, ye are 
lords of my soul to-day. 
I have heard your call from the tree-tops, and 

watching their branches sway, 
My spirit bends and answers, and is lost in you, 
even as they. 

Your servants don their silver. I hear their voices 

cry 
As they whiten and waver before you, while the 

trail of your robes sweeps by, 
And I hear the sound of going, and know that the 

Lord is nigh. 



36 



IRest- 

ONLY the stir of leaves, and the silent sweep of 
sky; 

Clover-tips aware of the breeze that passes by ; 

Somewhere off in the blue a hidden thrush sings 
loud ; 

A long green slope of grass, and above the hill a 
cloud, — 

Summer sights that the schoolboy whistles unheed- 
ing past ; 

Summer sounds that sing me release from the world 
at last. 



37 



Zbc %ast Xeat 



T WOULD not the heavens were so blue 
* When the skies of my heart are but gray ; 
I am mocked by the verdure of May, 

For my summer is over and through. 

The winds of November I hear. 

How sing ye, ^' Tis Spring of the Year ? " 

II 

Have I weathered the winter storms 

Only to fall in May? 
Twere better have joined the golden forms 

Where my dying comrades lay, 
Than to see how the spring the world transforms, 

And be cast by the winds away. 



38 



Slumber Qowq. 

A H, hush, my child ; the curfew bell is ringing 
^^ The hour when sleep were best. 
Across the sky the homing clouds are winging, 

And darkness nears the west. 
Then sleep, my child, while all the woods are singing 

The restless day to rest. 



39 



w 



mfrvana* 

AIF of cloud amid the blue, 
At its passing, like to you 

Would my soul be ; heaven fain, 
Azure still and sun-alight, 
Resting, garmented in white. 

Unaware of joy or pain. 

Island in the aether sea, 
As your white forgets to be. 

Sun-dissolved and zenith-drowned, 
So my soul would leave below 
Sense and self, and cease, cloud-slow, 

Into God's steadfast profound. 



40 



H Xittle ClouO of IRiQbt 

/^NCE on a time a little cloud of night 

^-^ Lay dying, and I heard it cry : 

^^ Oh^ the great darkness round me I Mother Sky, 

Bid the white moon but touch me with her lights 

Lest thy child waste and die^ 

Paler and weaker grew the fainting face, 

And slower through the night its whispered breath ; 

Then seemed the sky to brood and night to trace 

Upon her shadowed brow new rifts of care, 

While as a mother does, she waited death, 

Of aught but pain and parting unaware. 

Then slowly on the moon its presence drew 
And covered with its light the waning cloud. 
Till with the touch a sudden soft wind blew. 
And through the silence sobbed the sky aloud. 
But when the moon had passed the watcher knew 
Its rays' white folds had found her child a shroud. 



41 



UN-PASSIONx\TE am I, 
Rose-lit with fires 
That glow at morn and eve, 
And bid my soul believe 
Divine uncertainties and dim desires ; 
Destined to die 

With every nightfall, and to be reborn 
With each new morn. 

Love-passionate am I, 

Dream-hearted still, 

Of joyance and of pain, 

Of death and living fain. 

So my heart reach its vision-haunted hill 

Whose heights descry 

Man's dwellings, animate with smiles and tears. 

With hopes and fears. 

God-passionate am I, 

Self-urged from earth 

Unto a thrice-stilled place, 

Wherein a moment's space 

Sets the soul free from fear of after-dearth. 

Though night draw nigh. 

Because the glory of the after-glow 

Dwells, sunset-slow. 



42 



I 



IResttaint. 

HEAR you praise the reds and golds 

Across the sunset sky to-day, 
That all its beauty wide unfolds 

In sudden clamor — yet I say 
Mine be the gray, 
That passionately holds within its breast 

And will not let them free 
All the flashing rest, 

Such as men hush to see.^ — 
Ah, if for tragedy or pain. 

Or if for joy intense your quest. 

Look not to the east or west. 
I, whose searching is not vain. 

Face the north with clouds oppressed ; 
I, who judge of color, say 
Mine be the gray ! 



43 



o 



Bpolution* 

UT of the greater 

God granteth the less ; 

Out of Hfe-tenure, 
The mother's caress ; 

Out of soul's marriage, 
The bodily birth ; 

Out of world-chaos, 
The greenness of earth ; 

Out of the sunshine 
The daffodils grew ; 

Out of love's rapture, 
All radiant — you ! 



44 



©wnersbip. 

HOULD you offer the sea 
With its sunlit blue, 
What were that to me ? 
Let the sea be thine ! 
Since I hold in fee, 
Loveht and true, 
Her eyes that shine, 
I would answer you 
That all blue is mine. 



45 



IRequiem. 

\ I 7H0 would know, 
^ ^ Though he were wise, 
A bit of soil could go so deep? 
Or that beneath the earth one might grope to 

the skies 
So as by sleep ? 
Yet death can show 
How impotent is life 
Itself to leave earth or hold others there, 
Whate'er its strife ; 

And how each soul the other's lot would share, 
Whether it be to linger or to go. 



46 



IReguiem* 

LEAVE me — alone in the chamber of sleep. 
Why fears the body its fostering mould ? 
Lavish above me the crocuses heap 

Nature's unsinned-for, unperished-for gold. 
Up from my fingers shall violets creep, 

Sweet and life-breathing and gentle to hold. 

There in the March-world the cold winds blow 
shrill ; 

Better is darkness, and silence is sweet. 
Ye that are leaving the brow of the hill, 

Think not I envy the tread of your feet ; 
I, too, have trodden, and now would He still, — 

I with low laughter your weeping would greet. 

Here in my dreaming at last I awake ; 

Who in my rest am not vexed with your care ; 
I after slumber shall watch the morn break ; 

Pray, ye that toil still, such sleeping to share. 
Welcome your weariness, sent for the sake 

Of this else-lost rest, of daisies aware. 



47 



mature IRepeats Ibetselt 

T T ERE and there a new-found scene 
^ ^ Speaks to us with childhood's mien ; 
Here and there a face we near 
Smiles to us of one more dear ; 
Here and there, when faith's astir, 
Earth of Heaven is harbinger. 



48 



IResutrection. 

To be wakened by birds that sing 
In the sunrise hours of May, 
To welcome the vanishing 

Of the troubles of yesterday, 
And the vigor that noon will bring 

Now that slumber has passed away,- 
To smile with surprise at awakening 
After earth to another day. 



49 



/ 



IRefrains* 

CAfter the Roumanian.) 

I. 

HA VE so loved the summer 
That it has learned my sorrow ; 
And now the summer returns 
And waits a day with me, 

II. 

My window looks on the waters, 
Where the free winds are blowing; 
But the casement will not ope7i, 
And there are bars across it. 



III. 

She sfniled on me. Then 7ny heart answered her, 
'* Smile not again, I pray, but rather weep, 
For that would be less sad.^^ 



IV. 

Knowest thou what the night-winds are saying? 
The years are many a?id stretch onward, 
And yet the years are passing,''^ 



SO 



H 



Deapen is so jpat Hwap. 

(After the Roumanian.) 

EA VEN is so far away, 

And my child went in the night-time, 

I listen at the open door and say, 

His little feet will grow so tired, 

How can he find the way ? 

The wind is high and all the dark is wet; 

The storm is loud and he will be afraid; 

What if my child should ever homeless stray ? 

Heaven is so Jar away I 



51 



o 



H)as H)ream9^ 

F the time when he shall be man 

Murmurs the child on my knee ; 
When I sat where the streamlet ran, 

Its talk was all of the sea. 
The lone pine sings of the woods that sway, 

The bird in its cage of the sky, 
And of thy love this summer day 

Whisper my heart and I. 



52 



Spring* 

F mine were choice of rapture, I would be 
The heart-beat of a rose in ecstasy ; 
If mine were slumber, I would deem as best 
The moonlit dreaming of a cloud at rest ; 
If motion, then is motion's crown 
The wind-unhastened drifting down 
Of petals, whitely setting sail 
From apple-boughs, of anchor frail ; 
If mine were music, it would be 
Mid springtime's first-sung symphony ; 
If color mine, prismatic green. 
That holds the rainbow in its sheen ; 
If mine were knowledge, 'twere to stay 
In school with bobolinks all day ; 
If mine were heaven, 'twere but worth 
Spring on such another earth. 
What hath taught this all to me? 
May and fancy, love a7id thee I 



SZ 



/H^etamorpbosis^ 

OLIGHT-FIGURED, leaf-crowned, wandering 
^ alone, 

A maiden paused beside a rippling stream 

To bathe her white feet in the w^aters' gleam, 
Beside whose cool banks violets had grown, 
Seeming a thing the woods might rightly own. 

So kindred to them did her coming seem. 

Of such a mistress might the breezes dream 
Made for caressing, swaying there, wind-blown. 

Scarce had she stooped, when Pan, a-seeking near 
For one more Dryad, some nevv woodland tree. 
Started to see the object of his search. 
Her hands set fluttering in her sudden fear. — 
And ever since above the waters' glee 

Has bent the maiden drooping of the birch. 



54 



T HAVE lips that woo the roses ; I have ears that 
^ court the song 

Of the apple-blooms and clovers when the sol- 
dier-bee is here, 
With his noisy talk and bluster such as is to 
blossoms dear. 
I have eyes that on the lilacs linger covertly and long. 
Set your briar-dogs upon me, Mother Nature, lest 
I wrong 
These your stately moonlit daughters ; lo, their 

whispering knows me near. 
I am highwayman of roses ; I shall pluck them, 
though they fear, 
Yet shall I treat them gently, for my love for them 
is strong. 

As the maidens in Greek meadows were by myth 
and beauty taught, 
It were better to be god-sought for a day than 
loved of man. 
Were he prince or were he shepherd, yet his 
lifetime were as naught 
By a Zeus, with all his fire-bolts, or but music- 
making Pan ; 
And these blossoms know ^tis better to be loved 
as mortals can 
Than by kindred neighbor suitors in flower- wedlock 
to be sought. 

55 



Ube ©ar&ener* 

T THAT dig in the garden, — busily goes my 
A spade, — 

Keep my eyes on my task ; hour after hour goes by, 
Yet when you pass me, my lady, clad in your rich 
brocade. 
Like some brown, winged seedlings, upward my 
fancies fly. 
Wondering how and wherefore God hath the dif- 
ference made, — 
You, the land's first lady ; only a gardener, I. 

Bulbs I have set in the earth, — souls are earth-set, 
too ; — 
Some will be food for our bodies, formed of the 
vegetable mould. 
This I have carefully planted here for your eyes to 
view. 
One day shall grow the lily, stately and white 
and cold, 
Yet I have tended both, — and God in his tending 
knew 
You, the young fair flower, and I, who am with- 
ered and old. 



56 



What, do you pause in passing? Somehow I see 
your soul. 
Now I look up from my garden, and overhead I 
see 
The sun and the blue as you do, and the same 
white clouds that roll ; 
We are warmed by the self-same sunshine, shaded 
alike by the tree. 
Ah ! but the world is a garden ; God hath planted 
the whole, 
Lily and common earth-bulb ; you, my lady, and 
me ! 



57 



PART II!. 

Echoes from Over-Sea. 



Italy ^ Madonna mine, 

If I, too, pause at thy shrine ? 



Sunset on the 'Clppet UMmcs; 
IPofnt jflDeaDow, 

THE hour waits sunset as the bhnd wait sight. 
Old Oxford's freehold,— where the centuries 
He, — 
Low-domed unbrokenly by cloud-scrolled sky, 

Is lonely, wind-touched, river-cool to-night. 

Cloud-flames, a-sudden, sweep the air with light, 
And deepen as they rush, unroaring, by. 
My heart, aghast at color, verily 

Watches, fast beating, how the flames grow bright. 

A rising flock of white doves takes the glow. 
Self- offered on the dead day's funeral pyres ; 

Broad, level light, rose-tinged, winds river-slow 
About the willows ; and the distant spires 

Of Oxford answer to the west, where low 
Burn the red embers that have set the fires. 



6i 



H Burne^Jones' Moman* 

\1 7HETHER thou art Madonna, stayed by an 
^ ' angel guest, 

Or a maiden dreaming idly, 'mid summer flowers 

astray, 
One is the face and figure, whether joy or sad- 
ness may 
Fall on the work of the painter, that his mood be 

made manifest. 
In thine eyes he has written clearly the creed of 
an unchanged quest. 
To seek for the best alone, and for the rest to 

pray 
That the world find on his canvas the grace of 
an earlier day, 
And that thou, unknown and younger, be sister yet 
to the best. 

So hast thou been; the maiden hath caught 
Madonna's grace, 
And the mother of Christ hath drawn for her 
woman's eyes more near. 
So is it thou, though silent, hast won thyself a place 
In the heart of whom aforetime have held but 
those days dear. 
When art was young in Florence, and deemed but 
strange the face 
Of this far younger land and later year. 

62 



fxom tbe Uraim 

A HANDFUL of steep red roofs that the 
traveler on the train 
Sees flash through the smoke to a town, and back 

into smoke again ; 
Clustered gables that rise, set close 'neath a spire 
on the plain. 

A handful of simple souls that re-wake each dawn 

of day 
To the reaping of fields that wave, to the care of 

the child at play. 
And to sup when the dusk is nigh, and the Angelus 

rings to pray. 

Little ye know of life, whose ways are of times far 

past. 
Idly revolves your glass, while the sands of our 

cities run fast ; 
Yet do ye work, and love, and sin, and die at the 

last. 

Already half forgot, ere the shriek of the train is 

still. 
Yet, perchance in the day of God, men shall know 

ye have kept His will, 
And the town of the plain shall be as a city set on 

a hill. 



63 



®n tbe IRiGl— Question^ 

\1 7HAT thinks your silence of me, as your 
^ " glimpse of life, the train, 

Climbs slowly, noisily past you, and you stand 

a-gaze at me? 
Folk of the snows, mountain-dwellers, am I, 
then, so strange to see ? 
'Tis you are as dreams and shadows and a fancy in 

my brain. 
And I doubt not you will vanish ere the low sun 
sets again ; 
Brown roofs gathered together, washed by a 

cloudy sea. 
Snows and the mountain torrent, and the sighing 
green of the tree : 
Shall I seek you, all-bewildered, and find for the 

hills a plain ? 
Your speech is wordless to me, and your Hfe is 
strange no less. 
Yet have you spoken to me clearer than lan- 
guage can; 
And though I haste, for there beckon scenes that 
you cannot guess. 
In a city too far away for your highest snows 

to discern, 
Yet oft from its tumult, I know, shall my heart 
to your distance turn. 
For somewhat out of your silence hath uttered 
the language of man. 

64 



©n tbe IRigi— Hnswer, 

YE who would visit my mountains, as your eyes 
have seen, fain would I see. 
Ye who have trod city pavements, I, too, would 

hear bustle of feet. 
To me, bred in snows and in silence, the clamor 
of voices is sweet, 
Yet must I die on my hillside ; what kens the city 
of me? 

I, who drive the goats early to pasture, and sleep 
ere the twilight is near. 
With the rush of the stream for a curfew, its call 

in my ears as I rise. 
Is it strange, after years of its uproar, men's 
voices I long for and prize. 
With the love in them, hate in them, mayhap ; yet 
man's none the less, therefore dear? 

Your speech is wordless to me, and your life is 
strange no less, 
Yet have you spoken to me clearer than language 
can; 
And though you haste, for the^'e beckon scenes that 
I cannot guess, 
In the cities too far away for ?ny highest snows 

to disce?'7i. 
Yet to your world beyond me my dreaming 
shall often turn, 
For somewhat out of your passing hath uttered 
the la?iguage of man, 

65 



H Street ot Sorrento* 

HAVE halted impetuous feet 

For a traveler's curious stay ; 

I have turned, nothing sated, away 
From the whitely-paved, casement-lined street, 
Where the passing of flower-girls is sweet. 

And the shadows and sun are at play. 

Pausing only as wanderers may, 
For the mark on the dial is fleet. 

From afar I have thought oftenwhiles 

Of these byways where footsteps are slow ; 
Of the sun and the shadows that go 

Over scenes that the painter beguiles ; 

Of the leisure that sunnily smiles, 

And that trade with its haste cannot know. 



66 



©n tbe Bmalfi 1Roa&. 

LONG curves of foam-bound blue that shameth 
blue, 
Where rocks look out upon a west of sea; 
Above there wmds, and else were nature free; 
Trade's chain of white road that enslaves here, too* 
Down by the sands, half hid from passer's view, 
Rough fisher-folk do battle with the sea, 
And win therefrom what seemeth scarce to be 
Enough to keep men brave or women true. 

Above there go, you who seek rest and peace. 
To leave the world's noise for a while behind ; 
To you these are a picture of the mind. 

Not men, indeed, who crave like you, release 
From toil and care, yet dream not such to find^ 

Nor heed your passing, while your echoes cease. 



67 



Ube XanDsUSe at Hmalfl. 

(December, 1899.) 

SO many years the monks their cloister paced 
Above the sea that white Amalfi faced, 
And judged them owners of the sea and air, 
Not faihng to thank Heaven for their due share. 
Meanwhile the sea in jealous hate grimaced, 

And gnashed white teeth in hatred of their 
prayer. 
Meanwhile the years past, and all Nature graced 
Far-famed Amalfi, fairest of the fair. 

There came a day when the sea lay and smiled. 
As a dark-cowled procession sadly filed 

From the old walls, sent forth by law's mandate. 

Because past power, self-deemed inviolate. 
Was forfeit, and the over-proud, exiled ; 

Twice-heavy is misfortune to the great. 
Yet scarce by this was the sea reconciled, 

But well the years had taught it how to wait. 

Once in the centuries has the sea its day. 
And so, long past, it wrecked Amalfi's sway ; 

And so again — the echoes scarce are still — 

It leaped up, pitiless, to wreak its will 
Upon its foes' old home, its long-sought prey, — 

Grotto and cloister and fair, vine-decked hill, — 
That went, wave-charmed, a rock-torn, shuddering 
way : 

So seas their vows of vengeance can fulfill. 

68 



In JFlorence- 

MY dreams take vestiture of gates and tower 
To-day, at last, 'neath Brunelleschi's dome, 
Madonna'd by St. Alary of the Flower, 

Exile is over, and my heart come home. 
Canvas and marble dim not as elsewhere, 
And master spirits brood o'er bridge and square. 

A city many-memoried, wherein of old 
In angeled cell a monk prayed over long 

An old, rare volume, Arno-bound in gold. 
With Dante's love the frontispiece to song ; 

The world's best folio, warm yet from the hand 

Of Andrea and Angelo and Alessandr'. 



69 



St. 5obn tbe JSaptist* 

^17 HO paints Madonnas painteth women still : 
^ ^ Let him beware lest who his canvas scan 
See there a woman only ; one who can 
Love and be loved— no more — at human will. 

Who painteth Christ can scarce do else than ill, 
Or show, despite the greatness of his plan, 
By some strange failure, rather less than man. 

Though in all else unbaffied were his skill. 

Who paints St. John hath ever kept him pure, 
For careless or for steadfast eyes to see, — 

Mayhap just God enough in him made sure 

That art should answer to his beckoning hand ; 

Just man enough that man might understand 
What the forerunner of a Christ could be ! 



70 



ffta UrxQClico. 

CLUSTERING haloed figures, all intent 
On sounds wherein they may His name adore 
In all the curious ways of music-lore 
On many a mediaeval instrument. 
Such wealth of hues was ne'er so richly blent, 
Nor e'er by artist half conceived before, 
As these of golden Arno's sunset shore, 
And Florentine old noontides eloquent. 

From a past faith, where aught but gloom was sin. 
Come these, ashine, to scatter darkness quite 
Across the future's doubt lest right be right ; 

Flash gold and crimson, Hke the sun let in 

Through high choir windows on cathedral 
night,— 

Like Indian summers after frosts begin. 



71 



©It) an& «ew^ 

'X'O fight and conquer sin, Apostle- wise ; 
^ To die a death of shame, yet hold faith fast, 
Nor fear the pain that freed them centuries 
past, — 
These were the martyrs, winners of the prize. 
For them an unthought fame did art devise : 

Their heads gold-circled ; stationed on each 

hand 
About Madonna and the Son they stand. 
Bending in awe, and in a saint's surprise. 

We pause amazed before such deeds to-day. 
Nor deem that such as they be with us yet, 
And say faith died while still the paints were wet 

Upon the canvas, timeworn now and gray. 

Meanwhile God sends upon a silent way 
Unhaloed saints, whom after years forget. 



72 



A 



Ube Hrno* 

S a monk within his cell 

Waits till chimes, at sunset pealing, 
Ring his freedom, find him kneeling 

Rapt before the Raphael ; 

There, a sunset sentinel, 

Where the western sunbeams stealing, 
All the great stained glass revealing. 

Have not failed to love him well, — 

So have I the Arno waited, 

Leave to face my shrine, the West, 
While its glory, crimson-sated, 

Burns a gleam upon my breast. 
Kneeling as a monk, breath-bated. 

At the sunset's glow — God's best. 



73 



Hn Hn&rea &el Sarto /!Da&onna. 

r^ RANT me the old life that I knew before. 
^^ I would no more, alas ! Madonna be, 

Could I but know the child upon my knee 
Had such as other children have in store ; 
Young Hebrew manhood, skilled in priestly lore, 

Or peaceful age, though of less proud degree ; 

Then would I fear no future's mystery. 
And mothers wait Messiah as of yore. 

I look adown the widening of the years. 

And by their blinding light mine eyes are dim, 
The while my heart starts from the sight afraid. 
All the world's needs, and the world's unshed tears 
I fain would shut from pitying ken of Him 
Who has himself its Lord and captive made. 



74 



\1 7HAT is a sonnet? Twice the magic seven, 
^^ Quick- throbbing lieart-beats that to Dante's 
ear 
Cried, ^' Hush, the world stops ! Beatrice is near 
To guide you up to fame and love and Heaven ! " 
What is a sonnet? 'Tis the dial frame 

Whereon the sun of love the shade has thrown 

Of a white profile, laurel-wreathed, and shown 

On love's long day, its high-noon, Dante's name. 

Who now to fashion sonnets, would be bold ? 
And who that whisper loving, each to each. 
Can dream a purer passion could befall 
Than Dante's dream, to the world's waking told, 
And since love still finds in them sweetest speech, 
They do but mirror Dante, after all. 



75 



tlwc painters* 

nrWO painters once, when Italy was young, 
-■■ Lived, one in palace walls, his praises sung 
By rich and great about him. Other quite 
Was the poor monk's celled life, and yet one nighty 
Worn with self-torture, faint from lack of food, 
Tis said Christ smiled on him from the cell's rood. 

To these at rest the self-same night, a dream 
Flashed on the dark of sleep its hghtning gleam. 
" Go show the Father to mankind. Awake ! " 

The one arose, scarce waiting food to take. 

^* 'Twill be the world's best picture, — mine the 

praise ; — 
I only have been chosen to reveal God's face ! " 

Long days he toiled, till his high palace wall 
Bore Moses, Zeus, perhaps — scarce God at all ; 
But eager crowds, that came with servile speed, 
Bidden from feasting, cried, ^^ 'Tis God indeed ! 
By the great master — lo, his name is there ! " 

The other bent in prayer. 

*^ Let not Thy servant dare this task ; 

To paint the angel at Thy feet I ask." 

76 



The while he toiled, years past. 

They buried him, 'tis said, at last. 

When the great picture's glow was scarcely dry, 

And the poor wept as the slow monks wound by, 

Bearing him graveward. But the world forgot 

His name, and later centuries know it not. 

Thou who hast shown God's angel hast shown 

God's self supreme. 
And hast alone divined the message of the dream. 
What couldst thou more ? Thou hast taught men 

to pray. 
They who before thy angel pause to-day 
Are thousands, who through the St. Michael's eyes 
See God themselves. Thine be the better prize. 



77 



Ube Hrtist in ftalp* 

I AM the well-born artist ; models, ye knock at 

*- my door. 

Arno-reflected bridges, twilights of Italy, 
Indoor smisets aflame on a gold-walled sacristy, 

White-robed cloistered dwellers, ye hide to be seen 
the more, — 

Ye whose shadows pass across my shield, 

Unware or willing, to my art revealed. 

As I watch, like the mist of a breath on my glass 

that is sunlit and clear. 
There widens before me a vision, a nearing sheaf 

of light ; 
Beatrice my heart calls is near, — Beatrice has 

burst on my sight. 
Whispers have deafening echoes ; distance is not, 

she is here : 
Then, as I gaze, she is gone ; vanished the while 

she smiled. 
And instead a saint is kneeling before Madonna's 

child. 

My pictured saint with the aureole. 

In thy passion of prayer the ages through 
Thou hast never suffered as mortals do, 
Nor ever known life in its whole, — 
Love nor fear, nor aught but exaltation. 
Yet hast thou shaped the century of a nation. 

78 



Now even God have I ventured ; Thou, the greatest, 

art to me 
Another such, though the best, as is all the world 

around, 
Thou art mine to paint no less though Thou art 

a Saviour crowned, — 
And the dusk of the nave shall glimmer with what 

I have drawn of Thee, 
Thou, my beautiful Christ, hanging in patience and 

pain, 
Hearer of all men's prayers, — Thou shepherd, the 

lamb that was slain. 

Yet where so many fail, shall I endure ? 

Doubt asks me if my hope be not unwise ; 

I hear a whisper from the answering skies, 
'^ Enough it is if Truth be sure. 
Question not, but keep steady the glass; 
Paint what y 071 see — they aj-e bidden to pass, ^"^ 



79 



JUN 22 1900 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

!!!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! "Iji ■■>!■ mn inii iiiii iii 



018 602 686 A i 




